


Cocoon

by FinAmour



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Emotional Sex, F/F, Femlock, Femslash, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Post-Reichenbach, Reichenbach reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 13:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18639343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FinAmour/pseuds/FinAmour
Summary: “Don’t be afraid,” she murmurs, her low, velvet voice caressing my ears. “And I beg of you: don’t make a peep. If you do, I shall regrettably have to leave, and I barely have much time as it is.” She sets a soft kiss to my cheek before removing her hand from over my mouth.I close my eyes again. “Are you real?” I whisper. “Or are you a dream?”“I can be a dream, I suppose, if that’s what you’d like for me to be.”





	Cocoon

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time ever writing femlock, or femslash in general. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it 💜
> 
> Just a note: though these two are very much Holmes and Watson, I made the conscious choice to omit all names from this work, as I felt it disrupted the flow.

She’s been gone for nearly two years. Perhaps it’s been a decade.

It’s all the same, when it’s just another sleepless night and I’m drowning in a thick pool of tears and memories, and the apparitions of her smile haunt my every waking moment.

When I feel each memory deeply within—and it’s all as visceral and painful as it was the day she died—the passage of time slowly ceases to matter. 

The day I laid eyes on her for the very first time at Bart’s, and forgot what it even feels like to breathe. The evenings our flat became filled to the brim with laughter and her foul-smelling experiments and melodies she cast from her violin.

Two years, or perhaps twenty years later, reality continues to be the most unfathomable part of all.

In the reality I’ve created since her death, I’ve moved on.

In reality, I’m doing what every woman my age should be doing. I’m settling down. I’m creating a life for myself. It’s just as it should be, and just as it always has been, so who am I to argue?

_Moving on._

The words should inspire and propel me, not strike a dissonant chord in my mangled heart. 

When I lost her, I lost my best friend. I lost everything. How does one move on from that?

***

The woman I am in reality—and the woman I am in the tiny cocoon of my tiny flat—are two entirely different things.

I can’t remember a time they weren’t.

In reality, I’ve got a fantastic job at the clinic. I’m happily seeing someone, and we’re soon to be engaged, and we have plans to move in together next month.

But in my cocoon, _she_ has not been left behind.

In my dreams, she never jumped from the rooftop in the first place; and when I slip into slumber, I am with her again.

Sometimes, we’re in our kitchen, and I’m bandanging her up after a case where she’s been battered and bruised. Her face is in my hands, and her pale, pale eyes are on me, and I purposely fail to meet her gaze for fear of what it may lead to.

Sometimes, we dash through the alleyways of London, our chests heaving with frosty exhalations. And as we run, her shoulder brushes against mine, and her ivory skin almost glows in the moonlight. Her raven hair falls over her high, sharp cheekbones, and her pale pink lips pout as she struggles to catch her breath.

And I am happy.

***

I jolt awake when I hear the covers rustling next to me.

I feel the warmth of another body pressed into mine, but it’s not the body I’ve become accustomed to sharing my bed with. Slim, graceful fingers curl over my lips to keep me silent, and there is a hot, even breath against my cheek.

My heart skips a beat as my eyes fly open.

A familiar scent overwhelms me, and I breathe it in as though it’s the last breath I’ll ever be granted. It’s jasmine tea and honey and daffodils, with a hint of peppermint and tobacco.

It’s _her._

“Don’t be afraid,” she murmurs, her low, velvet voice caressing my ears. “And I beg of you: don’t make a peep. If you do, I shall regrettably have to leave, and I barely have much time as it is.” She sets a soft kiss to my cheek before removing her hand from over my mouth.

I close my eyes again. “Are you real?” I whisper. “Or are you a dream?”

“I can be a dream, I suppose, if that’s what you’d like for me to be.” Her lips brush over my earlobe as one of her hands ventures beneath the hem of my thin cotton shirt. She caresses my rising and falling stomach, softly drifting her fingers over my hipbones.

Without warning, she swirls her tongue into my ear, and a hoarse moan rips from my throat.

“Shhh,” she exhales. Her fingers trickle past my hips and underneath the opening of my pyjama bottoms. She places kisses on my neck, and those plush lips against my skin feel every bit as good as I’ve always imagined. 

“You have questions,” she utters between kisses. “And I promise I will answer them all. But in the meantime, I have missed you almost more than I can comprehend, and I’d prefer to spend my time kissing you.”

***

There is a feeling one gets when finding the person who completes you. The feeling that, if you died at any moment, you would die happy, because you’ve found the one you were meant to find. If you have the misfortune of losing them, however, that is a special type of hell; it’s dark, and it’s lonely, and it feels as if you’ve lost every one of your senses.

She has pulled her body on top of mine; she is straddling my slender hips, and she’s cradling my head in her hands.

She’s kissing me, and I’m in heaven.

She licks at the seam of my mouth insistently until my lips part with a stifled moan, and our tongues meet, sliding together as we explore one another’s mouths. She tugs impatiently at my shirt, and we break the kiss to allow enough time for her to pull it over my head before our lips come crashing back together again.

I moan and sigh into her kiss; I roll my hips into the heat between her legs. And even through layers of clothing, I can feel the dampness of her arousal. I am dizzied by the knowledge that she’s already in such a state, and that she’s in this state because of me.

Continuing to arch my lower body into hers, I clutch onto her backside, pulling her in to further deepen the kiss. I slide my hands to unhook her black satin bra, pulling it off of her and tossing it to the floor.

We are both naked and flushed from the waist up. She presses her body tightly into mine; brushes her hard, pink nipples against my dark, swollen ones, over and over and over again. Digs her fingernails into my shoulders as I lightly scratch at her spine, and we hungrily claim one another’s mouths.

Our breasts slide together, dewy and slick with sweat as I continue to buck up into her. She finally breaks our kiss with an indelicate smack, her tongue immediately leaping out from her plump lips and forming a wet trail down my neck.

Her dark curls bob as she lowers her head and seals those lips over one of my nipples. She moans with satisfaction, licking at it wildly. She swirls her tongue in indelicate circles before she brings her finger and thumb over my other nipple and pinches it without warning, continuing to lap at the first one hungrily.

It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to cry out at the sensation; instead, I bite my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. “Fuck,” I murmur. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She stops what she’s doing and she looks up at me, eyes dark and wicked beneath her long, thick lashes. She flashes me a crooked grin—the one that always drives me mad—before sliding her body slowly down mine, sweat-slickened and hot, pulling my underwear off as she goes.

She doesn’t break eye contact with me as she moves her long, slim body out of her panties, and there she is before me at the foot of the bed.

She’s absolutely perfect.

I have so much I want to say to her.

That she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen; that I’ve missed her more than I can ever hope to put into words; that I love her. That to have her in my bed is not only my wildest dream, but also my most wished-upon fantasy. That the great and incomparable beauty of her mind is often overshadowed the beauty of her heart, and that she never, ever had me fooled.

That without her, I have nothing.

“You’re gorgeous,” I say simply.

She gazes back in awe. “Now is not the time for talking,” she softly reminds me.

I nod. 

And in one smooth and graceful motion, she wraps her hands around one of my legs and lifts it into the air. She wraps both of her legs around mine; one on either side.

Her naked, slick wetness brushes against my own, sending sparks of arousal through my body at the contact.

I inhale sharply as she slides herself over me slowly—forwards, and then backwards, and forwards, and backwards again. I melt into her movements, following them and catching them and simply trying to keep up as we slide our soaked, silky lips together.

She grinds against me faster and faster, her breasts erect and bouncing with the rhythm of her thrusts. Her chest heaves as she bites the back of her hand to keep silent, leaving me a gasping, writhing mess.

“Christ.” I’m shivering, groaning, and my entire body is covered in goosebumps. “Fucking Christ.”

She stops and turns, looking down at me again, and she hums with amusement before flashing me the same crooked, maddening smile.

Turning her body to face me again, she kneels and spreads my legs apart, positioning herself between them. My thighs tremble with anticipation as she places a hot, soft, kiss on my wet opening, and then another one, and another.

She slides her tongue slowly over my clitoris, and I arch my hips upwards from the bed. She laughs lowly and begins to circle the warm area with her tongue, swirling in every direction, alternating between licks and soft kisses. Then, cruel and unannounced, she grips onto the flesh of my buttocks and buries her face in deeper as her tongue slides thickly and sensually over my wet heat.

I buck wildly, the noises I’m making raw and unguarded. I feel a surge of tightness in my lower abdomen as I approach orgasm; a chill sends itself through my body as I come.

My inner walls begin to pulsate powerfully, my clitoris twitching against her mouth, but she doesn’t back away. She doesn’t take a moment to breathe; she continues to kiss me and worship me there as I ride out my first orgasm.

My fingers clutch the bedsheets tightly as she coaxes me into my second. 

“Fuck, yes, god, FUCK,” I gasp; and she finally grants me mercy, slowing down her licks as the waves begin to subside.

But it’s not over yet. She lays her body on top of mine once again, and the first thing she does is kiss me; wet and messy, sliding her tongue ungracefully against mine. As our tastes and our lips mingle, she slides two long, deft fingers into me, commencing a deep, steady rhythm. She cants her hips against mine, mimicking the movements of her fingers as they slide in and out of my body.

“God, _yes,”_ I groan, and she fucks me with her fingers while her mouth is over mine, bringing me to my third orgasm.

Once she removes her fingers from inside me, she readjusts herself to straddle me again; this time, she wraps her legs around my stomach. She kisses me and kisses me and kisses me, writhing on top of me, her wet and swollen clit sliding against the skin of my belly and hips.

I lean forward to take her hard nipple into my mouth, and I lathe caressing flicks over it as she exhales deeply. I grip onto her arse and spread her cheeks apart, and then I move back up again to kiss her; sliding my tongue in and out of her mouth as we melt into one another.

A low rumble escapes her lips. She stills, and her entire body surges forward as she comes.

I don’t stop kissing her, and I don’t ever want to stop; not when I can _feel_ her pulsating against my skin.

“God, how I’ve missed you,” I mumble into her lips, and tears begin to prickle at my eyes.

She exhales a breath of laughter, her body collapsing next to mine, her head finding itself a place to rest on the pillow next to me. “I’ve missed you too,” she confesses. “More than is logically sound, and absolutely more than is safe.”

She takes my head in her hands and turns it to face her, and she gazes at me, her eyes openly sad. “I’ve got to go soon,” she says. “But I will come back. I promise you.”

She kisses me, and then she’s gone.

***

The next morning, I am forced to wake up to a reality where she is not there.

The memories come crashing into my mind. Tears pour down my face; flustered and angry tears that it had all simply been a dream.

I wipe my eyes dry and turn over to check the time, and on my bedside table, there is a note.

Confused, I pull it off the table and open it, and scrawled across the piece of paper, in tiny handwriting, are three simple words:

“I promise you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wow you actually read it? THANK YOU SO MUCH! Please, if you’d be so kind, leave me comments and feedback! If I get enough interest, there just might be a sequel involved!


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